Exposed
by The Frisky Firelily
Summary: It wasn't a relationship. No sane, healthy person would call it a relationship. Sequel to Bound  should be read first . Rating will increase.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: **Exposed

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine

**A/N: **Sequel to Bound…once again I'm blaming a few choice ladies for this. I take no responsibility for these randy buggers. Or the characters :P Dedicated to **Alphadine**, super later bday prezzie and result of her evil imagery :)

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><p>Jayne ran a hand over his face as Mal droned on, struggling to pay attention as the Captain repeated the plan for what must have been the hundredth time. Simon was reclining in the co-pilot's seat, also looking slightly bored as his sister leaned against the arm of the chair. The doctor had one arm loosely around her back, an unconscious, affectionate gesture, but his eyes were trained on Kaylee. The mechanic's face lit up and she gave him a sweet smile before turning back to pretending to pay attention.<p>

Zoe and Wash were throwing one another secretive looks and smiles, and it was enough to make Jayne feel sick. Ever since announcing Zoe's pregnancy the two of them had been annoyingly happy, and even Inara was smiling as she watched Mal act Captainy. Whatever Book was cooking up had sent some heavenly smells through the ship, and Jayne wished Mal would get to whatever point he must be skirting around to justify half an hour of droning.

He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and letting his mind drift. Vera needed a good oiling.

He paused, struggling to get the word oil off his brain.

Ammunition…he needed new clips for Lux, and some whetstone for Binky.

He tensed as he remembered the last time he'd used his Bowie.

Ok, food. Book's cooking was something mighty impressive, and he was starving.

He was always starving after…

He grunted, the sound making Mal pause for a second before continuing. From her brother's side River's shoulder twitched, and Jayne smirked to himself. He was always starving after he fucked her. Not just because the girl could go for hours, but she brought out some kind of ravenous instinct and when his body couldn't take anymore of one thing he needed to fill himself with another.

That morning he'd followed her into the shower stall, tangling a hand in her hair and forcing her to her knees while the water pelted them both. Her skin had glistened as she moved, pink lips wrapping around him tightly while she made those little mewls in her throat, one hand digging nails into his stomach as she sucked him off.

He'd come with a roar, and she'd swallowed every last drop before darting out of the shower stall. As soon as she had the water turned freezing, and he swore he'd get her back next time he took her.

Ruttin' witch.

She was ignoring him, well aware that he'd make her pay for it later, and damned if she wasn't running her fingers down her neck extra slow just so he could watch. His wrist was still marked red from the handcuffs she'd managed to sling on him the other night when he'd stalked into the spare shuttle to find her.

He'd forgotten her propensity for using the ceiling as a hiding place, and so the boot landing in his back had caught him by surprise. She'd cuffed him quickly, dodging an angry blow and retaliating with a kick to his knee that landed him on the floor.

He'd been locked down on his knees as she stripped slowly, refusing to allow him to touch her slim body, and at the sight of the faded bruises he'd left on her she'd smirked. She knew he wanted nothing more than to refresh them, leave new ones on her skin, bite down hard on her breasts so she would see his marks the next morning. She'd finally mounted him, whispering obscenities in his ear and muffling her climax into his neck before slipping off with a cruel laugh. It had taken him an hour to get rid of the cuffs, and two to get rid of the raging hard-on she'd left in her wake.

Probably pay back for the thing with the butter.

It wasn't a relationship. No sane, healthy person would call it a relationship. Since their first tryst three weeks ago they'd barely spoken other than to taut and provoke the other at every turn. Their Captain was losing his mind as they snarled and snapped, occasionally threatening violence when their vicious energy made the rest of the ship edgy.

To call it foreplay would be far too kind; as much as she'd been the first to break and come begging, he knew it wouldn't have been long before he snapped. Neither could control it, the ever present need to fight and fuck overwhelming in its constancy. The night he'd found her in his bunk, slung with rope and shame and nothing more, he'd wondered if he'd broken something in her to create this creature before him.

He would have felt bad if she wasn't just as guilty.

He'd try occasionally to avoid her, and it was times like that when she was at her most dangerous. Times like that he'd be struggling to breath at the dinner table while she smiled politely at whatever story her brother was telling. Her hand would be working him under the table, slow and hard, and he wondered why he didn't have the self-control to stop it.

Later, when he'd punished her on the galley table long after the others had gone to bed, bringing her closer and closer to the edge and never letting her fall, he knew.

He didn't want to stop.

He should.

It was getting dangerous. The other night Mal had praised some loophole she'd found in a law for him, and the sweet smile she'd shot her 'Daddy' was enough to make him growl. When Mal had kissed them top of her head she'd shot him a look of utter innocence, and he knew he had to make her pay.

Late that night he'd dragged her in front of Mal's bunk hatch, making her plant her hands either side as he fucked her hard, one hand covering her mouth so the scream was muffled. He couldn't speak without the threat of waking the others, so he'd thought his diatribe, fucking her hard enough that her legs were shaking as she came against her Captain's door. She'd bitten hard enough to draw blood, and he was relieved it wasn't his firing hand.

Dangerous, too dangerous.

Mal cocked his head to the side. "Jayne, you listenin'?"

He nodded. "Yup."

Mal wasn't convinced. "So yer okay with the part where you dress up like a girl?"

Kaylee tittered as Jayne glared at the joke.

Smug prick.

He hissed as River smiled sweetly. "Jayne is a girl's name."

He growled as Mal dismissed them. "Jayne ain't a ruttin' girls name." His crew mates exited the bridge, and he waited a second before whipping out a hand, tangling fingers in her hair and pulling her back against his chest as soon as they were alone. He kept one hand in her hair and the other around her throat as he snarled in her ear.

"An' ya best remember it girly, yer gonna be screamin' it later."

She shot him a glare and elbowed him hard in the gut, but he knew she'd be waiting for him later.

As she left the bridge he stared out at the stars for a moment.

Dangerous.

But so fucking good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Exposed

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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><p>He refuses to look at her, letting the thrum of dinner table conversation settle around him, drowning out his blood rushing in his ears. Book and Inara speak quietly at one end, discussing some ancient playwright. Simon and Kaylee chat with Wash and everyone is polite enough to pretend they're not holding hands under the table like a couple of school kids.<p>

Jayne sucks his teeth, irritated.

He misses the way River's head tilts to the side, catching the tail end of his thoughts.

He's so wrapped up in listening to nothing that he forgets himself for a minute, and reaches for the basket of protein buns. His hand hits bony fingers and their eyes lock momentarily. For the briefest, barest of seconds he quirks an eyebrow in a way that could almost be construed as playful if it wasn't now a warning sign of things to come. Her eyes narrow and she tightens her grip on the last remaining bun.

"Let go."

He smirks, "Be a cold day in hell 'afore some scrawny wench takes food from my hand."

She rolls her eyes, neither of them noticing as their little display begins to draw attention.

"Eats enough as it is; doesn't need to be taking more than his cut."

He glares. "Drop it."

She cocks her head to the side and he swears he knows what she's going to say next.

She's going to say "Make me."

And he'll lose it. He'll reach over, tear that pretty lavender dress clean down the middle. He'll grasp her wrists before she gets a chance to backhand him over his chair, and they'll struggle until she's against the wall. She'll hiss in his ear and he won't be able to resist running his teeth over her collar bone and she'll use his distraction to sweep his legs. She'll steal the backhand he denied her seconds earlier, and the sound of her knuckles hitting his cheekbone will ring in his ears just long enough for her to go for his throat. He'll block her; he knows all too well what those nails can do, what they can make him do. He'll smirk as he head butts her, dazing her just enough to get her back against the wall, where he wants her, where they both want her. He'll pin her wrists again and her legs will come up and wrap tight and then…

"Jayne, give her the damn roll."

Mal's voice cuts through his reverie and he can't look away from her eyes, seeing the fury, the heat, and the barest hint of disappointment there.

The interruption had stopped her from saying those magic words, from provoking both of them, and giving everything away.

He's trying to force his throat to work, trying to make his muscles do anything but what he was about to. Seconds tick by and every missed moment is costing them a little bit more, creating a little bit more suspicion, and then it will be the end of the game.

He's not ready for it to end, but he's not quick enough to make the next move.

She is.

She shoots him an imperious look that makes him feel like a moron before twisting her wrist deftly and holding her prize close to pink lips pulled into a smirk.

"Thank you-," he nearly bites through his tongue because he knows what's coming, "-Daddy."

The rest of the table is slowly returning to their conversations, comfortable in the knowledge that another one of River and Jayne's immature spats has been averted by the Captain. The moments of discomfort, and the potential curiosity they may have caused, are obliterated from memory as River leans close to her brother and joins Kaylee in a discussion on grav boots and reg couples.

Outwardly Jayne gulps down his beer before stomping away from the table, dumping his plates in the sinking and leaving the galley without a word. Nobody comments, nobody really notices, the behaviour isn't exactly unusual. They can't read minds.

Well, most of them at least.

If they could they'd see that image of her, well groomed brow carefully arched, imperious and regal and practically begging to be dragged through the dirt. They'd hear her voice, initially sweet and light, darken and become rasping velvet as she utters that word. Paternal claim, authority, knowing it riles him up to holy hell to know he's enjoying the ships darling in the darkest of ways. Knowing the thought of her willingly bedding someone like him sets his skin on fire, knowing that if the others found out he'd be dead before he could blink.

_"Funny, ain't it? Pretty lil Core thing like you wantin' a big ol' Rim boy ta show ya a good time."_

_She lifted a brow, looking oddly regal despite her nudity._

_"Funny, isn't it, that he takes her innocence, sexes her six ways from Sunday, leaves his marks all over her skin, and he still fantasises about the taste of her lips."_

He drops down into his bunk, hating the way that conversation still ran through his mind. She had been right then, she was right now. Everything else about their fucked up situation he could understand. He knew why he wanted to fuck her, fight with her, hell he knew why both of those things got him off. He knew why salt and sweat and screaming left him hard as a rock. He knew why taking Simon's sister in the med bay late at night, or fucking Mal's ward in the Captain's chair under the stars, or sending the ship's albatross to her knees made felt so damn good he occasionally wondered how he was still breathing.

But he didn't know why he wanted her lips.

And he hated that.

He knows he'll find her later, or possibly she'll find him. He hopes it's the former; he wants the upper hand to wipe the smug smile off her face and leave her hating him with her eyes and hissing out his name in ecstasy. He'll go in search of her after his workout, he wants to leave marks on her skin. If it's the latter he already knows she'll push him further, enjoy her throne a little too much; last week he almost had a broken wrist when she'd slung those cuffs on him. He knows she'll leave him panting and cursing her name and that every thrust and movement will push him a little closer to trying to taste her lips, to roaring her name through the ship, to ending the whole damn game in one foul swoop of capture and torture.

The alternative, however, is that he doesn't fuck her tonight.

And that is completely unacceptable.

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><p>She watches him stomp away, already planning her next move. He has a workout planned for late in the night, he plans on hunting her afterwards. He doesn't know she's already stashed manacles behind a crate, doesn't know his work bench will be his home for a few hours after the crew have settled into slumber.<p>

A soft giggle, two minds whispering to one another.

She glances at her brother and Kaylee, the latter nuzzling into the former's neck.

He looks so happy.

Strawberry scented wisps of romance tangle between them, and she knows tonight will be filled with low sighs, hums, intimate chuckles and heady whispers.

She thinks of her cold manacles, her heated skin to be bruised.

She looks away, the tug in her chest heading straight to her stripped amygdala.

She feels sadness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Exposed

**Disclaimer: **Not mine

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><p>She's excited.<p>

She's been acting antsy and twitchy and excited all damn day.

It makes him suspicious.

The mail pickup had been smooth, and he'd quickly decided to find her while the rest of the crew were exploring the town. Back at the ship he stalks through the halls. She'd picked something up in the mail, letting her brother know she'd be on ship, and Simon had shot her that indulgent smile he always got when his sister was happy. Whatever she'd picked up had her giddy enough that she'd flung her arms around her sibling, causing him to grin.

Jayne fights back a sneer at the thought.

He follows her scent; he needs to get the drop on her this time. The weight bench stunt she'd pulled had almost left him with a torn muscle in his shoulder. He keeps his steps silent as he heads through the galley and towards the cargo bay, entering carefully and surveying the area. He spots her before she sees him, and he takes the opportunity to duck behind the door and study her for a moment.

She's perched high above the cargo bay floor, along the railings of the catwalk. She's wearing that long, grey cardigan, the thick material swamping her slim frame. He thinks he knows the right angle; he can stay down wind, and she looks distracted enough that he can have her pinned before she can sweep his legs.

Something makes him pause, and he just watches her a little longer.

She's got her fingers wrapped around a massive tome, but the cover doesn't look like one of those quantum physics books she normally totes around. The front is dark; gold lettering catching the light, the name is familiar. He wracks his brain and finds a memory from dinner a few nights ago.

_Simon nodding as Inara described a book of fairy tales she'd seen. _

"_River had one of those before we left Osiris, she had it memorised by three."_

_The girl had shook her head. "Doesn't compare."_

_Kaylee had looked over. "Somethin' wrong?"_

_River's eyes had seemed far away, filled with longing. "Memory doesn't compare. Stories spun, words jumping from the page, encouraging imagination with smell and sight and taking her on adventures."_

_Mal had scoffed. "Not enough adventure for you, 'Tross?"_

_River had shot him a sweet smile and that had been when Jayne stopped listening and started imagining her face as she bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming his name._

So, the girl had wanted something and brother-dearest delivered. Whatever the princess wishes, the princess receives.

He rolls one shoulder back, wanting to watch for another minute before he goes in for the kill. For the first time in a long time he studies her, really watches her.

What he sees startles him.

She looks tired. Her eyes have dark rims around them, and for the first time ever he finds no pleasure in a fading bruise visible on her ankle.

_Legs wrapped around him tightly as he fucks her against the wall of her room, gripping her ankles while she whimpers and moans. _

Even with the obvious exhaustion she looks completely entranced by her book. Though tired, her eyes are still lit, and her lips twitch into a small smile at whatever she's reading. Though balanced carefully she's actually slouching a little, so wrapped up in her moment even her muscles have let go of their grip. Beneath the cardigan he can see a pair of Simon's pyjama bottoms, carefully rolled to stay up on her hips. Her hair is in a loose, messy braid, loose curls tucked haphazardly behind her ear as if she doesn't have time to worry about them while she has her book. She has a cup of hot tea beside her, and her hand reaches out to grab a sip without her looking, she can't tear her eyes from the page.

And he can't tear his from her.

She's a young woman taking a private moment, an afternoon of quiet enjoyment, something so sane and simple it's stark and strange. She's pleased and calm and completely wrapped up in reading, there is no worry or wariness. He doubts she can even feel him nearby, he can't see even a hint of alertness. She's relaxed, looks tucked away, and for the first time since their fucked up thing began he feels guilty at the idea of disturbing her.

He moves away, heading back down the corridor.

He thinks he'll head to the galley, grab some protein snacks, hide in his room with the cortex projector he borrowed from Mal a while back. Maybe he'll go for a run while they're still planet side, maybe later when she's finished he'll see if he can-

He stops dead in his tracks.

He rolls his shoulders, jaw jutting out.

This was not how they worked.

This was not how they behaved.

He was not a lover who, having spotted his beloved engaged in her book, would make other plans so as to allow her a quiet afternoon. He wasn't some boyfriend allowing her a moment alone while he went about his plans, wondering if she'd be free later to laugh and caress.

He rolled his shoulders, striding back into the cargo bay.

He doesn't bother sneaking up on her; she's involved enough in the book that she's barely paying attention.

By the time she is her tea is spilled, her cardigan is pushed aside, and his name is hissing through her clenched teeth, annoyance and pleasure as he roughly removes her pants.

The quiet peace is gone from her eyes and for a second, right before he enters he, he feels that pang of guilt.

In that split second her head cocks to the side, eyes widening slightly, lips parting.

For a second the air between them is charged in a different way, the words unsaid are hanging and there's something in the oxygen that makes him feel high as a _gorram_ kite.

He swallows thickly before leering and pushing into her, bringing their bodies together until there's nothing between them but sweat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Exposed

**Disclaimer: **Not mine

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><p>He has a lovehate relationship with the shower.

On the one hand, the chances of being interrupted are miniscule. Once they're inside the room and the water is running there'll be no chance of anyone entering and seeing her held up against the wall as he tastes her and she drags her nails up his back hard enough to draw blood. They won't see him bending her over the sink, wrists locked behind her back hard enough to bruise.

One the other hand, the water covers the smell of her.

He hisses as they bump the temp controls, the water becoming momentarily icy, but she's fast. The water returns to a more pleasant temperature almost immediately, though he knows it's hardly for his benefit. From her position against the wall the droplets slide over heated skin, one thin arm reaching upward to grab the grate as her head knocks against the tiled surface. Every surface of the room is covered in moisture, steam rising around them, and her legs tighten around his waist. Her hair is matted against her neck and her nails are carving his back like a _gorram_ turkey but he can't bring himself to care.

Not while she's biting her lip like that.

Her eyes open and meet his for a moment and time stops.

Chocolate brown meets icy blue and both their breathing hitches in their throats. The image of her, pale and perfect, bare as the day she tumbled into his life and skin slick with moisture and sweat, is frozen into his memory, scarring into his brain. Rivulets carve their way down her breasts, her neck exposed, bottom lip clenched by white teeth.

He needs to taste her.

He wants nothing more than to find out what her mouth tastes like, to feel if those lips are as soft as they look, to enjoy her satisfied hums and swallow her cries of pleasure. He's never felt an urge quite like this before, and the air between them becomes dangerous, heavy with steam and a million things they're not saying and he feels himself move forward minutely. His face comes slightly closer to hers and for a second he lets his eyes travel upwards.

Long lashes frame wide eyes and he thinks for second it wouldn't be so bad if-

A droplet lands on her right eyelashes, causing her to blink.

The moment's gone, and he realises his face is too close to its previous target.

He smirks at her, seeing anger flash through her eyes before they close again, his thrusts starting once more. He settles for biting her on the collarbone while he fucks her against the shower wall.

And pretends he doesn't feel relieved.

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><p>She watches the dinner table carefully.<p>

There was something she was missing, she knows it.

She twists slightly in her chair, suppressing the wince that threatens to cross her face. As fair as the payback for her earlier backhand was, it didn't stop the bruising from aching now.

Everything aches. She hasn't ached this much since she first started ballet; the deep ache of well used and slightly tortured muscles. In some ways she loves it. Thinking of each bruise, each position, each moment spent angry and aroused and aching sends a thrill down her spine. When he enters the galley the hair on her neck stands on end; she knows not to bother looking up, knows her eyes will go unmet.

His thoughts are a rapid jumble, and hunger is at the forefront. Once he's eaten she knows he'll sit back, survey the table, allow his eyes to flick over the skin of her arms or the curls of her hair. Then his thoughts will turn from orange hunger spikes to heated, bloody red. If his workout earlier was any indication, she knows she's unlikely to surprise him tonight.

Tonight he feels like hunting.

She knows she'll leave the table first tonight, knows that the cup of tea she has been looking forward to enjoying quietly with her book will be cold before she can get to it.

She knows she'll wind up on her knees tonight.

She looks around the table. Simon laughs with Wash as Kaylee chats to Inara and Book. Her brother's right hand is wrapped around his mug and his left…

She pretends to drop her chopsticks, ducking her head underneath the table quickly to pick it up. Her brother's left hand is holding Kaylee's, resting gently on the latter's knee.

River sits upright once more, her head cocking to the side. They aren't talking to one another, they're not curled around one another in a private moment. But still he brother wants to be touching Kaylee. Earlier he sat quietly in the engine room, studying a medical text as his lover worked on her other love.

No talking, just enjoying one another's company.

She lets her mind reach out. Her brother's thoughts are a warm, ocean blue. He's calm and relaxed. Occasionally she feels a little wave, rolling and gentle, creating sea foam the colour of strawberries. Not heated and violent, not urgent and desperate.

Anticipating but not demanding.

She shakes her head, letting her eyes drift to the Captain. He's chatting with Zoe but only a blind man would fail to notice the looks that he sends to Inara. His thoughts are warm, burnt umber, and though the former Companion throws him the occasional word barb, he isn't angry or hurt.

The venom of longing and forbidden love between them is gone, leaving behind flirtatious snark and the occasional heated argument. Inara's raised brow used to send sharp spikes of green jealousy and desire through him; now they send bright, warm gold.

She knows they never make love on the same day they have an argument. She has walked past his bunk at night, moved outside her shuttle. Days when they have arguments result in nights spent clutching one another tight, as if to let their bodies apologise. Like they are aware of how easily their words can destroy one another, like they can't bear to cheapen their apologies with heated sex.

Fully clothed but completely naked, chaste and devastatingly intimate.

She lets her mind slip over Zoe and Wash. Like her brother and the mechanic they are sitting side by side, not speaking to one another but nonetheless completely engaged. When Zoe's swollen stomach causes her to shift uncomfortably her husband absentmindedly runs a hand over it, deft fingers locating a knot without looking. His wife doesn't bother saying thank you, he knows her well enough to see her facial muscles relax minutely from the pressure.

Their colours aren't separate; they're perfectly blended, chocolate leather and a Hawaiian rainbow. If she looks closely enough she sees their whole world, passion and fighting and making up and making love and mixing all four until finally there's just that bright, piercing ray of silver where their love bubbles over to create an entirely new entity.

There wasn't room inside them anymore, they couldn't help but create.

All these colours from couples who fight and fuck. They don't always mesh or mix flawlessly; sometimes one colour is brighter, darker, more intense or more clouded. But when that happens the other darkens, brightens, dims or becomes clearer in an effort to support and carry.

She knows she is electric, violet and filled with pinpricks of blood.

She came almost smell their mixing sweat, eyes clashing and bodies hurting, violating, dominating and fighting.

She knows what is missing.

She draws in a breath, trying to dispel the colours from her mind. She feels Book watching her closely, and forces herself to eat some protein before he makes a comment. Through the corner of her lashes she sees Jayne sit back, chuckling sharply at something Mal says before sliding blue eyes in her direction.

She can feel his colours.

His hunger is gone, replaced by something darker.

She knows that his colours say she will wind up on her knees tonight.

And she knows, more than anything, that she cannot let it happen.

She is done.


	5. Chapter 5

**TITLE:** Exposed

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine.

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><p>He blinks, wondering for a second if he's misheard her.<p>

The crew is asleep, the ship is silent, and he has visions of her on her knees, starlight bouncing off the smooth skin on her back.

He loves fucking her by starlight.

She'd been waiting for him on the bridge, staring out at the stars, a cup of tea balanced on the console. Her hair had been pulled over one shoulder, exposing the back of her neck, and he'd been in the process of running one calloused hand over the nape to tangle in chocolate curls when her voice had echoed around the room.

"No."

Something about that tone.

He blinks again. They've played this game before, and he smirks, spinning the chair and planting meaty paws on either side. He brings his face close, uncomfortably so, and grins lasciviously.

"Go on girly, say it again."

There's a growl to his voice belying the tension he's feeling at her impassive, calm face. There's no flush to her cheeks, her breathing is controlled, and her voice doesn't shake when she answers him.

"No games, Cobb. Just no."

Gentle but firm, unyielding. She's using his last name, formal and distant, polite and direct. Something about it makes his stomach twinge uncomfortably.

He steps back, cocking his head to the side. She's not toying with him. Her hands rest in her lap as she watches him patiently, and he knows she's studying him. There's something in her eyes, he knows there is, and the hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle as she releases the barest of sighs. She looks down at her hands.

"It's done, no more."

She looks back up at him and exhales.

"I'm done with this."

He feels winded, like he can't get enough air into his lungs. Her voice is calm; her face is still and completely unaffected by her words. For a second her eyes widen slightly, and he thinks he is seeing something but he has no clue what. Just like that her eyes also close down, politely disinterested, and he feels sick.

Why does he feel sick?

The reaction is instantaneous; his sneer is quick. He feels like his blood is acid, her voice is playing on repeat, that calmness slicing into him again and again and again.

_I'm done with this I'm done with this I'm done with this I'm done with this I'm done with this I'm done with this_

"Think that's how this works, girly?"

She sighs, standing. "Don't."

It sounds like an order.

He scoffs as she moves past, reaching out to snatch her wrist in an iron grip. He twists her arm against her back, pushing her against the bulkhead. He has no idea what he's doing; falling back into what he knows best by sneering and running his tongue over his teeth. He uses his free hand to snake between her breasts, up around her neck, and he pulls himself close against her ear, uncaring as his stubble scratches against her cheek.

"You don't _gorram_ tell me when this is done, ya don't-"

"Jayne," her voice is a whisper now, one laced with pity. "Don't make this harder."

He chuckles darkly, the pity in her voice lancing into his chest, and he compensates by twisting her wrist harder.

"Ya want harder?"

He hears her inhale careful, still too _ruttin'_ calmly, and he can barely think straight.

_Can't lose her can't lose this force push fight keep can't have this be the end mine mine mine_

He can't do anything smart and nothing has ever been right about this so all his panicked mind says to fall back on their old habits and take her the way she's taken him, force her the way she's forced him, fight her the way she's fought him over and over again over the last month. If he bruises hard enough, makes her come loudly enough, takes enough back hands and black eyes maybe she'll stay and he needs her to stay. He reaches to tear off her dress.

"This ain't over til I sa-"

The crunch echoes through the room as his head swims. When the black dots clear he's on his knees, one wrist broken along with his nose, a small combat boot planted in the centre of his back, arm pulled taut behind him. He knows one move will leave his arm permanently useless, and the pain clears his head somewhat.

He's in a bind.

All this time she's let him think they're equals, at least to some extent. He's been able to give as good as get, been able to dominate and be dominated.

But it's a lie; she's had the upper hand the entire time. Whatever dominance he's possessed is just what she's allowed him. Even when faced with his size, his weight, she's always known how to end things in a second if she wanted.

She's let this happen as much as he's wanted it to.

And now she's stopping it.

He knows she can hear his thought process, knows that whatever blackness drove him to try something so vile and stupid is now gone, leaving in its wake a feeling of loss like none he's ever felt. She releases his arm and he stands quickly, ignoring the way his head spins and his wrist throbs.

For a second he can't turn around, staring out at the stars that should be lighting up her back, but are now revealing him, exposed and embarrassed and…hurt.

Princess stepping out of the dirt, moving away from the soiled bed sheets and back into the light.

He feels a feather-light touch on his shoulder and it flames the anger, the rage, the hurt driven fury enough for him to pull away, turn around, and sneer down at her. Her eyes are huge and he sees sadness there, sees her wanting something, but he knows it's not him. Her voice trembles now, and he notes how much he preferred it when it was arousal that caused the hitch in her throat.

"Jayne, I'm sorr-"

His chuckle is dark and nasty, and he lets himself revert. He runs his eyes over her, violating the plain dress and booted feet, letting every nasty, dismissive thought pass over his face. He meets her eyes again and leers, letting her see how unimportant she is, how much he doesn't care, how easy the fuck was and how unaffected he is by her decision to end things.

The hurt flares in her eyes as he forces every cruel, degrading act into her memory, running his tongue over his teeth before quirking a brow.

He moves to the doorway, not turning around as his words fill the bridge, sharp and ugly and darker than the space they're moving through.

"Fuck you."

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><p>She watches as he leaves, knowing she has done the right thing. Knowing she needed to protect herself before things got too far, before he had too much of a heart he didn't want, before she was picking up shattered pieces rather than living with little bruises. He would lash out, angry and annoyed at losing easy access to release, irritated at having a toy taken away. But a few whorehouses and painted ladies would help him ease the ache, and he'd go back to hating her in his own, special way. A way without violent sex or moments of intimacy that he didn't want in the first place.<p>

It hadn't been a relationship; no sane, healthy person would call it a relationship.

She sits heavily in the seat, turning to face the stars in a room full of hurt. She looks at the way the light reflects against her skin, clutches her mug of tea close as she draws her feet up and wraps her arms around her knees. She thinks about his skin, his scent.

No sane, healthy person would call it a relationship.

So why did it hurt so badly?


	6. Chapter 6

**TITLE:** Exposed

**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine

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><p>He hates her.<p>

He shouldn't, he knows that. Neither one of them had asked for that…thing…to start, and one of them had to end it eventually. Truth be told he thought it would end with getting caught, Mal blowing him out into space in the middle of the night, or the doctor leaving him some kind of husk.

He refuses to dwell on why he kept up at something so _gorram _detrimental to his survival. Wasn't like him at all.

Nothing to do with the way her skin felt like silk and secrets.

So if he's honest with himself he knows that she has made the right choice. She needed to be done with him, with them, with whatever they had been doing.

_Fucking her against the Captain's door, fighting back a roar as she came shuddering around him. Feeling deeply bruised days later, finding teeth marks in strange places._

_Wondering what her lips felt like._

If he's honest with himself he thinks maybe he should be grateful she ended things when she did.

"Get outta the way," he hisses, pushing past her as they load up the mule for another job.

Nobody ever accused him of being honest.

The last week hasn't been fun. It's not just the drive; his system is now used to getting trim far too regularly, and the broken wrist that was her parting gift has meant he's been forcing his mind to other tasks.

"_Jayne, how on earth did you do it?" He sneers at the doctor, squinting through the matching black eyes that arrived when she broke his nose._

"_Tripped."_

_Simon rolls his eyes, applying a wrap to help his wrist bones set correctly._

_Jayne smirks inwardly, wondering what would happen if he told him the truth. _

'_I've been fucking your sister for a month. She started it, but I weren't unwillin'. Girl gives as good as she gets; can't count how many times I dug my teeth in, how many ruttin' hours I spent tryin' ta make 'er scream. Reckon I got good at it, too. Mighta woken y'all up once or twice, ever wonder where she was gettin' them bruises? An' she liked it too; girl likes being dragged through grit an' gun oil, gettin' the taste o' Rim boy all over them lily white legs. Coulda fucked her daily fer the rest o' time…but she got done. Mal's 'tross ain't got no place 'tween sheets like mine. Now I'ma go hump my gorram mattress an' pretend not ta be thinkin' on her.'_

_His shoulders sink; he'll never tell._

_No one would believe it._

He shoulders his way past River, annoyed when she gracefully dodges the move. He shouldn't be surprised; she's been dodging him all week. At meals she is careful and polite, never accidentally skimming past him. It infuriates and irritates him no end, the way she can act as if he'd never seen her splayed out on her back, cheeks flushed, his name being torn from her vocal cords. As if she hadn't tasted him.

He spends every meal thinking the nastiest, dirtiest, filthiest thoughts he possibly can. He watches her skin blanch and her eyes occasionally close on their own volition, but the teeth don't bite down on her bottom lip, and whenever the eyes reopen they're calm, determined.

She went and decided something about him, and he has no clue what it is.

He doesn't care.

This is his home planet, and after their job is done he's looking forward to visiting his folks and siblings.

At least, he would be if she wasn't in his _gorram_ head.

He heaves up the next crate, pretending not to see her moving a heavy box out of the corner of his eye. He waits, knowing she's a little too good at Reading him, and he shifts his boot at the last moment. It's a dirty, low move, and that suits him just fine. The crate smashes as she falls, and for a split second he feels guilty when her head knocks the ground.

He shakes it off.

"Best watch where yer goin', girly."

Her eyes flash with hurt and anger, and for a second he remembers how much he liked tangling his fingers in her hair while she-

"JAYNE!"

He turns, swallowing as Mal strides towards him.

"Weren't but an' accident, Cap'n-"

Mal's finger is in his face and he's not sure if he wants to break it or smirk. The girl is sitting up, and he feels another flash of irritation that she can look so _ruttin'_ royal even knocked on her ass with her dress around her thighs and all that skin-

Mal's voice cuts through his unwelcome reverie.

"Third time today I've caught ya pissin' her off. I warned ya. An' now yer makin' me do somethin' I never, ever wanted to have ta do to my crew."

He freezes, feeling himself swallow thickly as Mal shakes his head and pins him under a grey stare. He's not sure what's about to happen but he's willing to admit he's scared. Worst case scenario, Mal shoots him. Second worst is he makes him leave, and Jayne tries to ignore the pang in his stomach at the thought of being forced from his home.

The Captain's eyes are merciless and he speaks through gritted teeth.

"Go. Git. Laid."

He blinks. "Come again, Cap'n?"

"Exactly." Mal shrugs, sighing and looking skyward. "Again, and again, if need be. We been landside four times this last month, not once have ya gone lookin' fer trim. Whatever asshole gland has swollen up in yer head, get it taken down. Find a cathouse, hell, find three. Do what you gotta do an' don't come back until it's done."

His Captain's eyes grow cold. "Or don't come back at all."

Of course.

Noble Mal, dear, sweet man.

From his peripheral vision Jayne sees the girl stand up slowly, ignoring the hand that Zoe offers her. Her head is down, eyes firmly fixed on the floor. She couldn't care less. He finds himself wishing she looked hurt, or upset, even anxious. He has no clue where it's come from; there is no place for jealousy in the aftermath of whatever game they'd been playing. He straightens, dropping the crate with a thud and enjoying her flinch at the sound.

He snaps one hand up in a salute, "Aye aye, Cap'n." He turns, striding out the doors without turning around.

**FOUR HOURS LATER**

He's hit every cathouse on this rock. He has licked, sucked, bit and fucked for the last four hours and…he's still angry. Tired, bone tired, exhausted beyond belief…and still wanting something. Nothing is finishing the job properly, and it's not from lack of credits or trying. He's tried curvy, athletic, slim, even went for a skinny brunette with big eyes, though he's smart enough now to remember his rule.

Never on the lips.

It's not hard to remember; they're never the lips he wants, anyway.

He even ventured, very briefly, into a local house of chains. He was there about forty seconds before he decided that, crazy assassins aside, it really wasn't for him.

And now he's here.

He stares up at the door he really, really hadn't wanted to come to after a night of trying to forget her. He sighs, reaching into his back pocket. There were no credits left, but entry to this place would cost him something else.

On the upside, he could smell dinner.

He pulls on the soft hat, opening the front door and ducking through the doorway.

The woman behind the counter is thin and short, though her arms and back muscles have the look of wiry strength only gained through hard work and raising boys. She glances up as he enters, eyes returning briefly to the hunk of meat she's carving before snapping back up again.

"Baby!"

It's been years, lifetimes even, but his Ma still recognises him.

The hat is damn cunning.

He grins as she hugs him, barely reaching his chest, and gives himself a second to enjoy the tight grip. Curly grey hair surrounds blue eyes so like his own, and he hugs her back.

"Hey Ma."

The evening is calm, peaceful, and he wishes he'd come here first rather than work through his last pay packet. His mother lets him sit on the back veranda, enjoying the mild weather and a cigar while she finishes her roast and chats.

After a while she sits beside him, passing him a beer and taking a swig of her own.

"So, what's she like?"

He shakes his head. "Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout."

She rolls her eyes, "Uh huh. You just show up outta the blue lookin' like someone took that gawdawful gun ya named and threw her over a canyon? _Chui nui. _Go on, tell me."

He scoffs, hoping the bravado holds. "She's a bitch, _boo hui hun de po fu_, ruts like a _gorram _hellcat an' talks in riddles. Ain't too bad with a gun, iffen yer sure she's all there that day. Gives head like a pro."

No reaction.

His mother refuses to let him rile her up with the foul way he's speaking, and her lack of response makes him sigh. If you can't rely on your own mother to tell you to cut it out, chances are you're a lost cause. He sees her raise one eyebrow and finally cuts the crap.

"She's smart."

His mother turns to him, smiling. "An' what's the smart girl's name?"

He's fairly sure this is one of the first times he's actually called her anything but nicknames and crude words. "River."

His mother nods in approval. "Nice name, pretty."

He looks over the yard, watching the chickens in the distance for a minute. "Yeah, she is."

Blue eyes lock him down. "Can I meet her?"

He shakes his head. "Ain't like that Ma, weren't nuthin'. Done now anyhow, an' ain't like I'ma get tied down ta no skinny little thing."

Ma Cobb glances at his broken wrist and the fading rope burns, and shoots him a smirk. He rubs one wrist self-consciously.

"She finished it."

His mother shrugs nonchalantly, looking out into the sunset. "Sounds like it weren't anythin' anyways, if there's nuthin' there then there's nuthin' ta finish."

"Sure, sure. Weren't nuthin', just an' easy piece in the Black."

He stares into his beer, missing the sideways glance she shoots him.

"Of course."

He takes a sip of his drink as she continues. "Guess that's why ya don't care that it's done."

Before he can respond she's standing, pulling him with her and inside the house. "Yer Pa'll be home soon with Mattie, let's get the table set."

He helps her with the plates, letting his mind wander to chocolate curls and creamy, pale skin.

He misses her.


	7. Chapter 7

**TITLE: **Exposed

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine

**A/N:** Hi guys, I'm sorry for all the delays in my posting. I do try really hard to update as soon as I can, but I don't want to pump out something I'm not happy with. I try really hard to make it something you'll enjoy, so I hope you'll bare with me, I'm doing my best!

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><p>He wants to fuck her again.<p>

_Legs and arms, nails on his back and the constant fight for dominance, to win, to push the other to breaking point and keep them there long enough to climax._

He needs to.

_His name hissed in his ear, anger and tension and harsh, perfect release._

It's driving him crazy. Zoe and Wash are on cloud nine, their whole world currently existing in that big bump she's sporting. Kaylee seems determined to destroy every last one of Simon's brain cells using some kind a buck nekkid torture device women are equipped with, and Simon doesn't seem to mind. Mal is more than happy to keep them flying without a job for a while, which Jayne would normally take as a sign of their current cashy credit accounts being rather well stocked. However the black haired beauty currently making eyes at the Captain over the dinner table seems like the bigger draw.

Everyone is getting some.

Everyone is sporting tired eyes and easy smiles; everyone is enjoying the kind of physical intimacy you can only really experience when you've been sweaty and nekkid with another person.

Not just that, they're happy.

He hasn't noticed other people so much in the last month. He's been too wrapped up in creamy thighs and perfect skin that seemed even sexier with his hand prints bruised into it. He's been enjoying the taste of sweat and the sound of her gasping, spitting out his name like a curse when she comes. He hasn't had any time to annoy other people. He's been friendly, possibly even helpful, and no one has rubbed him the wrong way.

Until now.

Now every longing look, every flirtatious giggle, every heated flush not caused by a workout or a gun fight is making him furious. It isn't hard to put his finger on what is driving him mad.

He needs to get laid.

A little voice in his head pipes up, asking what he was doing back on their last stop off, or the one before that. It reminds him that he has in fact spent more money getting sexed in the last two weeks than he has in the last year, and asks him why he's still hard as a rock and going to sleep hornier than a stallion in spring.

He ignores that stupid, annoying little voice.

Dinner with his folks had been good; it was always good to see his siblings. He'd come back to the ship a little calmer, which was lucky, seeing as Mal had looked set to leave him behind if he didn't stop picking on the girl. Still, he wasn't going to be keeping the act up for long.

_A few weeks back, when they were still torturing one another. Dinner, her hand sweeping over his chopsticks, knocking them under the table. She shoots him an apologetic look so sincere that for a moment he thinks it really was an accident._

_She corrects this misjudgement._

_As she comes back up her chair has moved infinitesimally closer to his, her left hand skimming over his thigh, her chest brushing his arm as she returns his chopstick. Her hair hides her smirk from the table, and he prays he doesn't bite through his _gorram_ lip when her hand reaches the bulge in his pants._

_It's torture, perfect fucking torture, as she takes him out and begins to stroke slow, agonisingly gentle touches along his length. All he can do his pray when she draws the others attention, knowing he can barely control the expression on his face as her grip tightens and her movement speeds up. She's careful, so careful, to make sure they can't see the movement, isolating the muscles in her forearm so her upper arm is completely still._

_She just makes sure he nearly pulls muscles by trying to keep his face straight._

_Ruttin' bitch._

_He knows he'll have to get her back for this, and as he feels his breathing become heavier and harder to conceal he thinks of what he's going to do to her later. He's picturing her arms locked behind her back while he pulls her into his lap, pictures thrusting into her hard enough to make those perfect tits bounce and her teeth snatch her lip in an effort not to scream._

_He thinks he'll fuck her in the infirmary this time, and contemplates the best way to make the most mess._

"_Jayne, you ever eaten a marshmallow?"_

_He swallows when Kaylee brings the conversation onto him. He thinks perhaps they've been talking about treats, but he's so wrapped up in getting one himself he's got no capacity to form words. He'd be in deep _guay_ if it wasn't for the fact that Simon speaks before he can._

"_I'll find you a marshmallow."_

_The mechanic shoots him one of those sweet, grateful looks that makes Jayne's lip curl, but this time is different. River's hand falters, and he looks at her sideways, seeing her eyes resting on her brother and his girlfriend._

_The expression on her face is…sad, confused even._

_Wistful._

_She slowly draws her hand away, leaving him hard as a rock, confused and annoyed. He searches for her later than night, ready to punish her body for leaving him panting, only to find her asleep on the couch with Book reading beside her. When he enters the galley the preacher tilts his head._

"_Are you alright, Jayne?"_

_He goes for honesty. "Ain't too sure."_

He watches her now, weeks later, still studying the couples on the table. Her chair is closer to Book, though no one else would notice, and his eyes narrow.

He doesn't miss her; he swears he doesn't miss her.

A warm laugh from another end of the table draws his attention; Wash is tracing patterns on Zoe's stomach, eliciting amused chuckles from his wife. Jayne watches the girl, sees that same look in her eyes.

Over the next few days he studies the couples on board. He needs to know, needs to figure out what to do so he can fuck her again. He watches Zoe bring Wash coffee and Mal let Inara choose the vid for the night. He watches Kaylee show Simon how to make food that doesn't taste like ass, and watches Wash bring Zoe cushions for her aching back. It's the same relationship _go se_ he has always hated, has no interest in, and he hopes for their sake that the sex is good.

The everyday interaction looks boring as hell.

He watches the couples and realises something.

There are smiles and in-jokes and heady laughs and those eyes that say 'later tonight you will see me without cloths'. There are quiet teases and sultry stares and affectionate gestures. There are fights and tense moments and periods without talking and even the occasional yelling match. There are apologies and forgiveness.

They're not hurting one another.

He's standing in the far doorway of the galley. Simon, Kaylee, Book and River have selected a vid, watching it on projector in the little crash nook filled with chairs. Kaylee has fallen asleep on Simon's shoulder, the Doc not looking too far behind her. River is curled with her feet tucked under her, a drawing pad and charcoal perched precariously on her lap.

Book rises quietly, heading to the kitchen for a cup of tea, when he spots Jayne. He follows the line of vision to where River is sitting, and moves closer to the mercenary, keeping his voice quiet and even.

"Are you alright, son?"

Jayne's answer hasn't changed. "Preacher, I still got no idea."


End file.
